CHAPTER FIVE
*Lace*
The drop of an idea for how to remedy this situation beaded in my thoughts while dancing; in order to survive, from here on out, I would have to fight fire with fire. The moment the culprit stumbled out of his hiding spot, and the lighting revealed it was Zane, I almost — almost — changed my mind. But when I realized he might not even know Reece is in here, my decision was made before the first ice cube dropped. When he never once looked over his shoulder to check on her, my assumption was confirmed and decision solidified.
Play games with me all you want, but my family stays out of it. If I can manage to keep her off their radar for just a bit longer while taking care of some last-minute tasks in the morning, we can hopefully leave the state without a hitch.
However, it was the pictures Zane took and sent to Coty every thirty minutes as proof he was fulfilling his job that served as more evidence and bolstered the confidence in my risky and dangerous move tenfold.
After finding those while scanning through his phone, my tears dried faster than a popcorn fart. I will not be fucking babysat. Time for these boys to stop underestimating me and treating me like another one of their assignments.
So, yeah, that toxic psychotic behavior, even if his hand was forced by invisible puppet strings, encouraged me to release the glass and let him drink. Well that, plus the moment my guilt over it being sweet Zane versus one of the other guys morphed into relief upon realizing I could get away with getting the job done with an itty-bitty dose thanks to his weak tolerance. Most of the others would have needed a damn tranquilizer-sized dose to take them down.
Would my will have been strong enough to pull it off if that were the case? At the thought alone, a ball of regret lodges in my throat.
Fire with fire, Lacinda.
There is no other way.
You do what you gotta do, girl.
To say I have never dragged an intoxicated patron across the saloon floor would be a lie. Unfortunately, this time is a bit harder thanks to the fact that I just killed my arms — stars, my entire body — on the pole. Jelly arms scooped under his, I drag all six-foot-plus of limp body to the couch. Hoisting Zane up and getting him situated comfortably without waking Reece is the real challenge, though. With Reece curled in a ball, butt stuck up in the air, in the very corner of the couch, I just barely manage to fit his long form.
Mission accomplished, I pull out the phones, ease down to the floor near his head, and watch the minutes crawl by, my focus narrowed on his phone screen, waiting for the half hour that the next report is due. Zane managed to snap a shot of me doing an inverted thigh hold not long before his nausea attack. The next one is due in three minutes.
Three minutes takes entirely too long to pass, but when only sixty seconds remain, I open the camera app, press my tongue flat against his cheek, flick up my middle finger, and click the shutter button. It takes a balancing act, but the picture turns out great, mascara-tear-streaked face and all. Very emotive.
Picture signed, sealed, and delivered, I shove the phone back into his jacket pocket, put my silky blouse and belt back on, get all the music and lights turned off, blindly make my way back over to gingerly scoop up Reece, and get out of there.
I had my doubts, but surprisingly the baby bag is waiting for me on the gravel near my back tire. Coty delivered. Or he passed the task off to someone else. A quick rummage through the bag tells me that whoever did the job went through the house and just dumped things in. Baby food, powdered milk, diapers, wipes, toys — mostly things Mom was signed up through the state to get for free through their women and children program, even if she never used them.
As much as I hate to wake up sleeping beauty, the poor girl is ripe; I cannot in good conscience leave Reece this way for any longer. For starters, I situate us on my mattress and make her some formula, using water from one of the gallon jugs kept stored on my passenger floorboard. Bottle at the ready by her sleepy head, I work on changing her diaper and putting her into a clean onesie. She wakes up halfway through the process, but the bottle does the trick. By the time she is cleaned up and comfortable, Reece is passed out again, and I can breathe just a little bit easier.
I dig deeper into her bag and let out a sigh of relief when my fingernails clack against the plastic case of my phone. Yet, for the first time all night, although finally presented with a quiet moment to think, I can do nothing more than stare through my dark window shades.
Someone appears from around the far corner of the building, nearly giving me a damn heart attack. Until I realize it’s just a Groove Pizza employee taking out the trash. Lainie.
Lover boy, Reid, is right behind her. He slips his palm to her lower back, removes the trash bag from her hand, and slings it up high and into the large dumpster. Lainie runs her fingers through the end of her ponytail and ducks her head to hide a coy smile.
Sigh. Puppy love. What I would give to switch places with her. So young and innocent.
A tickle on my cheek brings me back inside my home on wheels. I swat both the thought and the pesky tear away with an indignant sniff.
One bit of imagery from the scene imprints in my mind, though — the little pizza logo on the back of their shirts. Thoughts of Jess and how I left her high and dry at the event float to the surface. My fingers fly over the phone screen to dial her up.
The line rings and rings and rings. Each ring louder than the last until it rages in my head.
“Lace?” Jess finally answers, her voice shaky.
“Jess!” I whisper-screech back, darting a nervous glance at Reece.
Jess gasps. “Oh, my Heavens. Are you okay? They all fought and got bloody. Gabe got taken away by the police for bein’ an instigator.” The sound of Jess covering the speaker with her hand precedes a muffled conversation between a man and a woman. Jess and whomever she is with. “Kio came back for me. H-he is here with me right now. Where are you?” she rushes out.
I know Jess is asking because she’s genuinely curious, but also because Kio is probably insisting. “You tell Kio he can talk to his superiors if he wants answers.”
“B-but are you okay? Can ya give me that much? Have you at least eaten anything recently? Pizza maybe?”
Hell, how to even answer that? Physically, yeah, I guess. Mentally? Emotionally? Soulfully? No. Not at all.