Elect - Dyken Rachel Van. Страница 27

“Who the hell is this?” I pointed at her.

She turned to face me, her eyes wide with horror. In an instant she had pulled Nixon’s gun from the table and pointed it at my face.

I already had my gun pointed at her.

Nixon smirked.

Trace released my hand and stepped away.

“Chase, meet Emiliana De—”

“I know who the bitch is!” I yelled.

“Chase.” She smirked. “Just relax, you need to let the past be the past.” Her chestnut hair hung in waves over her bandaged but otherwise naked back. I had to look away before I did something else stupid.

Memories came flooding back to me. Shit. It had been so long ago. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again—no one did.

“No.” I laughed bitterly, bringing my gun back up to aim it at her. “What I need is to put a bullet through your head.”

Nixon burst into laughter. “Chase, sit down, have a drink. You too, Trace. Let’s drink to our misfortune.” He looked wasted already.

“Have you lost your mind?” I stood in front of Trace, blocking her from seeing both of the insane people in the room. “She’s Phoenix’s stepsister, and why in the hell is she nearly naked?”

“I know.” Nixon winced as he took another sip of scotch. “Tell me, Chase. How was your sixteenth birthday party in Vegas?”

“Son of a bitch.” I shook the gun in the air. “Seriously, Mil? You told him?”

She grinned. “Let it go, Chase. It was one time, and I didn’t even tell anyone…”

“Until now,” I grumbled, setting the gun on the table. In a moment of pure stupidity I had slept with Phoenix’s sister. I blamed Vegas. I didn’t know at the time, but she was fourteen. Meaning it was like two kids going at it. Everything that could go wrong went totally, and I mean totally, wrong. It was so damn embarrassing that I made her promise not to tell anyone. Which had worked out just fine until her mom found out and sent her to reform school shortly after.

It didn’t help matters that Phoenix had walked in on us. I earned a black eye and bloody lip. We ended up in a fistfight while Mil was taken away in a car, never to be seen again. Phoenix and I swore we’d take it to our graves. Guess the secret was out.

With a wink she set her gun on the table and took a seat.

“Who’s the whore?” Tex asked as he charged into the room, gun raised.

“What is with you people and guns?” Trace waved her hands in the air. “Put it down, Tex.”

He glared.

Mo followed close behind and took in the scene. “We going shooting or something?”

“Or something.” Nixon nodded. “Let’s just say ‘or something.’ Unless Chase really wants to shoot Phoenix’s stepsister.”

“I knew you looked familiar!” Tex slapped his leg and let out a laugh. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, eh, Chase?”

I groaned into my hands and briefly contemplated turning the gun on myself if it meant I would be able to escape past memories, regrets, and embarrassments.

Mo giggled behind him. Oh great. “Does everyone know? Seriously?”

“I didn’t.” Nixon held up his right hand. “Swear. I didn’t know anything until she told me and I’m pretty sure it was the painkillers talking.”

“I plead the Fifth on why y’all have drugs in the house.” Trace groaned, plugging her ears.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled her fingers out of her ears and looked at Nixon. “It’s three in the afternoon. Why the hell are you drinking?”

He shrugged as he took another sip, eying Trace the entire time. What the hell was he planning?

“I need to know you guys will protect Emiliana.” He set the glass down and folded his hands. “Regardless of what happens to me, promise you’ll protect her.”

Trace snorted. “Um, you do realize Chase was just holding a gun to her head five seconds ago.”

“Oh that.” Nixon grinned. “He misfires all the time, doubt he would have met his mark, huh, Chase.”

I gripped the table so hard I’m surprised it didn’t crumble beneath my bare hands. “Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So many things.” Nixon took another sip, and his eyes glazed over as he looked out the window. “Just promise me.”

“Fine.” Tex put his hands out between us. “We’ll protect her. We’ll figure something out.”

Something was up. Nixon wasn’t acting like himself, he was acting like… shit, I don’t know, like the world was ending, like we were somehow losing, like he was going to die or something.

“Is that all?” I asked. “All you needed from us.”

“Yup.” He took another swallow of scotch. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Okay.” Trace sounded confused. She looked between me and Nixon.

“Perfect.” Nixon pushed away from the table. “I uh, have to go see about something. Trace, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” She eyed me before looking back to Nixon.

“My room,” he said. “Alone.”

I’d be lying if I said I wanted her to go. I had no idea what the hell was going on but for the first time in my life, I didn’t trust Nixon to not do something stupid. He had that look in his eyes, the same look he’d had when he was a kid watching his dad beat his ma.

Reluctantly, I watched Trace follow Nixon down the hall and close the door.

“Bet you wish you were a fly on that wall,” Tex mumbled.

“Shut up, Tex.” I grabbed Nixon’s empty glass and the bottle of scotch and poured myself a healthy dose.

Chapter Twenty-seven Chase

I eyed the scotch on the table and poured myself a healthy dose of liquid and tossed back the contents, all before taking a seat next to Mil’s spot on the floor.

“So.” She tried her best to cover herself with the blanket but failed miserably. I hated myself that I was actually staring. But I was a guy; who would—could—blame me? I couldn’t decide if I was more embarrassed of the past we shared or the fact that everyone else in the room most likely knew about my feelings for Trace, too, and pitied me while I sat on the floor with the girl I’d lost my virginity to. “You look good.”

“I’d say the same”—I cursed and pulled the blanket around her—“but you look like hell.”

She shrugged and pulled the blanket higher, exposing her foot. “Did you get hurt?”

She took the drink from my hand and motioned for me to pour her more scotch. After she took a sip she sighed. “Nixon shot me.”

“In the foot?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“To prove a point, the jackass.”

I tried to hide my smile. “He may be an ass but at least he’s protecting you. Why is he protecting you, by the way? And why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at some boarding school in Florida?”

“Not when I’m needed here.” Her eyes drooped as did her hand. I reached for the glass and set it on the floor.

“Mil,” I urged, trying to use a nice voice considering I’d just had a gun aimed at her face. “What’s wrong?”

“You have any regrets, Chase?”

Um, seriously? I looked back down the hall. Regrets. Nice, I freaking hated that word. It seemed to define everything that was happening in my life lately.

I regretted that I loved Tracey.

I wished I didn’t.

But I did.

I regretted that I’d do anything to have her.

And I regretted that in the end, it was Nixon in that bedroom and not me. So I answered, “Sure, I think everyone does.”

“I have lots.”

“Am I one of them?” I joked.

She laughed. I’d forgotten how pretty her laugh was. It was what attracted me to her in the first place. She’d always laughed like she didn’t give a rat’s ass if people heard her. She’d throw her head back and put her entire body into it; her entire face lit up like a Christmas tree and I was drawn into her web. Scary that some fourteen-year-old girls are born to look more like they’re twenty-two.

“Nah.” She looked up with her bright blue eyes and shrugged. “You weren’t a regret.”

“A mistake?”