Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair (6 page)

SIX

My mouth fell agape before I could utter a plea or grasp why a beautiful moment had been shattered. He had stepped back, then pushed me to the other side of the door. With a thundering heart, I watched as the doorknob turned. When it was barely cracked, Slayton reached through and pulled my father inside.

I lifted my trembling hands to my lips trying to stifle my scream. I knew we had long ago passed any kind of grace period when it came to our neighbors and the law. More than once the neighbors had called the cops to our flat when they thought my father had gone too far with our fights. Last time, the police all but swore they’d lock my father up if they were called again.

How fucked up was I? If I ever needed the police, it was now, but I was determined to keep this hushed. I couldn’t process that Slayton had his gun pressed to my father’s forehead, and shockingly my father had one pressed to Slayton’s chest.

Years of drinking, taking pills and lack of any kind of a healthy balance had chiseled away at the handsome man my father once was. He still had his height, but his broad shoulders hardly had any muscle on them anymore, much like his arms. His skin was pale, and his dark hair was thinning on the top. His sky blue stare was always a bit cagey, either coming off a high or climbing up a new one. There were only seventeen years between us, but you’d swear there was far more. He’d lived hard, and played even harder.

In a blink of my eye, Slayton had charged forward, taken my father’s weapon, kicked the door closed and pushed my father to the floor. His knee was on my father’s chest; his gun was pressed to his forehead.

“No...” I breathed.

My one whispered word woke both men from their rage. My father’s expression fell and was full of remorse; Slayton’s grew deeper with sick rage, and was topped out with outright disgust.

“Past due, fucker,” Slayton growled.

My father glanced at me, giving me a quick once over making sure I was whole, then moved his stare back to Slayton. “She’s got nothin’ to do with this. Just a runaway I gave a place to stay.”

Slayton hit him, and I couldn’t hold in my scream. I’d seen how powerful his blows were and I knew how weak my dad was. It must have caused Slayton to hold back some of his strength, had to have because my father was still conscious. “Fucking coward,” Slayton hissed. Slayton pulled my dad up, “Where is it?” he demanded.

My father swayed his head. Slayton shook him, then clutched him tighter.

“I got twenty-five. I’ll have the rest soon.”

“Twenty-five,” Slayton growled. “Out of two hundred?”

My father swallowed tensely as I felt fear all but drown me. How could anyone be that far in debt—with these kind of men? I knew we were dead. That those assholes I’d seen tonight would kill for a thousand.

Slayton pushed him away then leaned his head down. The second my father made a move, Slayton lifted his gun again, he wasn’t even looking at my dad, but the threat was there. After a moment of tense, silent thought Slayton held his hand out asking for the twenty-five thousand my father did have.

My dad lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture then stepped back. The entire flat was only a thousand square feet. The only privacy I had outside of the bathroom was the blankets my dad had hung around my bed like curtains. His bed was on the other side of the room but most of the time he was on the couch in front of the door.

My dad moved toward the couch then leaned down to flip it over. Slayton clearly had zero trust for him; he was at his side, gun loosely aimed. My dad pulled back the felt and a new pit of sickness washed over me. There were bundles of cash there, but there were also guns and packs of white powder.

Slayton hissed a curse as he reached for the cash and the bags. My father glared at him, then his guarded stare moved from the bag to the money like they were the most precious thing in the world to him. Resentment and something close to hate planted a seed deep within me. The only thing stopping it from erupting was the memory of my grandmother, his mother. The one telling me we must love the lost too, without condition—as we are loved.

Slayton moved back to the door, on the floor was the black bag he’d carried into those gangsters; one I guess he’d kept with him right until we fell into our kiss. He put my father’s money in there, then pulled three more bundles out. Mystified, my father stared Slayton down as he walked back to him. Slayton slammed the white power into his chest then the cash. “Before the sun rises clean the cash, sell that shit.”

My dad looked down at the bag. “Not mine to sell.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Slayton growled.

My dad nervously looked at me. Slayton leaned closer, “Before the sun rises or you’ll never see this ‘runaway’ again.” The fear and pain that washed down my father’s expression were his salvation. It told me he did care about me, despite all his wrongs and addictions—I still mattered. Slayton shoved him forward. “We’ll be waiting.”

The frantic stare my father gave me as he moved past me said a million things; sorry was close to the top. A promise he would be back one way or another was the second. Dread dominated them all. It was clear to me he didn’t trust or understand Slayton which was a sobering thought.

I didn’t get any of this. I didn’t understand why Slayton had given my dad three times the cash my father had turned over, and told him to ‘clean it.’ The last thing I would do was trust my father with any kind of cash much less whatever powder was in that bag.

Once the door closed, and Slayton and I both heard the elevator open and close, Slayton moved to the windows and stared down. At first, I assumed he was watching my dad, but once the time for my father to have not only left but also made it far past our block had come, I had my doubts.

I didn’t like the sobering feeling I was standing in the center of. I didn’t like the conflicting thoughts in my mind. How one second I thought Slayton was on my side, that somehow on sight he had found mercy for me and was determined to protect me, no matter the cost. And the next told me I was nothing more than a pawn, and right now a hostage.

I needed to ask him. Had to. But I couldn’t. He never turned from his watch at the window. After long moments went by, he settled on the ledge and stared fiercely out at the night. Watching for demons I couldn’t see, but could sense. He only glanced back when he saw me move toward the door. I expected him to be at my side before the next beat of my heart, but he wasn’t.

Showing trust, he watched me move every lock into place. I lowered my head and drew in a breath. When he kept his seat, his vigilant gaze, I made my way to my space in the flat. Hoping each step would clear my head a bit more, and I could nail down some kind of survival plan.

With each second that went by, the same degree of safety that I felt the night before with him blossomed. I could only hope my instinct was right, and I wasn’t a fool. He never said a word or made a move as I gathered my clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. I lingered in the shower until the hot water was gone, and the steam had long since faded.

The rush of the excitement from this night had left me exhausted, but I fought sleep. I’d dressed like I was leaving, ready for anything. In my mindless task, I even gathered my things all the closer. I’d never really unpacked or accepted that I belonged in the city with my dad. I counted the pitiful stack of money I’d made working for Mrs. Jin so far—it was hardly a thousand dollars.

I struggled to comprehend what my grandmother would tell me to do if she were still here. If she’d say to beg this beautiful dark angel perched in my window to let me escape. Hitch a bus to somewhere far away and start over, all alone. Or if she’d tell me to stand bravely and marvel at the beauty of the storm. Understand that nothing worth having came without endurance, without the struggle and the pain that marked your path.

I leaned back on my own bed and stared Slayton down as the long hours ticked by. Every once in a while, he’d look my way. It was always a bold, deep, stare. One where neither one of us dared to look away. It was during one of those engagements that my eyes fell heavy, and sleep came.

It wasn’t a deep sleep. When I woke again, I found a blanket tucked around me. He was no longer in the window but on the couch that was angled the way my dad liked it, where he could see outside and guard the door at once. Slayton was leaned back, his eyes were closed, his gun was resting in his still bloody but tape-free grip on his stomach.

He seemed so boyish, blameless in his sleep. Something I couldn’t explain drew me closer. I didn’t like the space between us, the coldness I felt. In the haze of sleep, I found courage I doubt I would’ve had any other time. Taking my blanket with me, I moved toward him. I was a few steps away when his eyes flicked open. His fist tightened around his gun, his jaw tensed, all silent warnings I ignored as I edged closer.

Once I reached the end of the couch, I crawled along him then nestled myself between him and the back of the couch. Covering us both up with my blanket as I did so. I’d long since gone lax against him before I felt the tension leave his body. He moved his gun to the floor and slowly, like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched, I felt the palm of his hand on the back of my head, caressing the hair out of my face as I lay on his chest. His other held us closer together.

A calm moment in the storm that I let myself relish.

It was still dark when my peace shattered. I woke alone on the couch to the sound of each lock turning on the door. The sound of my father coming home didn’t have me near as panicked as the idea that I’d fallen asleep and lost Slayton.

When my father stepped inside, I quickly figured out Slayton hadn’t gone far. He was behind the couch I was on, holding his gun loosely in his hand. A deadly, cold, disengaged expression was strapped across his beautiful face. I truly did look like a hostage, not a girl who’d been held tenderly for hours.

My father held up one hand in a peaceful gesture, with the other he reached in his jacket and pulled out a brown paper bag, thick with what I was hoping was the debt he owed.

On guard, Slayton moved toward him. He opened the bag and counted what was there.

“A hundred,” my dad said. “Clean.”

Slayton checked each bundle, each bill, like he was looking for a bomb. As he did my father stared me down, looking for damage.

Once Slayton moved toward his bag to put his stash away, my father rasped. “We good?”

“No,” Slayton grunted. “Who’s stuff did you sell off.”

My father hesitated before he answered. “Zee’s boys.”

Slayton’s pissed expression became enraged as he flicked his stare to me then back to my father. “How do you live with yourself?”

“Don’t judge me.” My father said acidly. “You gave me no choice.”

Slayton raised his gun as he moved forward. At first, my father was stubborn and glared, but once the gun was to his forehead, he raised his hands. “I’d do anything to keep her safe,” my father swore.

“Anything but get clean, and stop hustlin’,” Slayton argued. He pressed the gun harder against his forehead. “You made her a fucking
commodity
. Zee will get his payment one way or another, just like Malcolm.”

My father went to speak but as he did Slayton’s phone went off. Slayton read the screen, then cursed. He ticked his head to me, and I moved to his side.

“Don’t—” my father started to say. But Slayton turned him away.

“Turn the lamp on, stay low,” Slayton said to me.

I did.

“Shake it,” he said in a harsh whisper.

Looking at him like he was crazy, I did. The dim light in the room shook. Once I stopped Slayton rushed my father to the window, a step before it he threw him into it, so hard I thought for sure he’d go through the glass. I lunged forward on my knees like I had a chance at catching him. He didn’t fall through; with his face pressed to the glass, Slayton raised his gun to my dad’s head once more then pulled him away tossing him on the floor.

Slayton stalked into the room like a perfect storm ready to explode into action. Then nothing. The three of us made no move at all as long moments crept by. Moments later, Slayton nodded for me to turn the lamp off and I did. He glared down at my father as he grabbed his bag, then left. I stayed frozen in place. I couldn’t figure out why he left me, what any of what just happened meant. I hated the sense of longing I felt. How it outweighed the fear and relief that I was free.

My dad crawled to the window. I was right on his heels grasping for understanding. Downstairs, across the street, I saw a black Escalade parked. In the passenger seat was Channing. Vinnie was driving. Slayton strolled up to them like he had all the time in the world.

“What the hell, Dad?” I whispered.

He shushed me, but I’d had enough of not speaking. “What did he mean? Why did you have to clean that money—how do you clean money?”

He looked at me like I was crazy, like that should have been the last question I asked. But I couldn’t help it. I’d seen the world those men came from. I’d felt the darkness of it. I didn’t know for sure where the money Slayton gave my dad came from, but I had a pretty damn good guess that it came from him winning that fight. If there was a way to trace bills, those guys would know that Slayton was defending my father and me and not doing his job. I just had to know how bad this could get.