Shades of Gray (13 page)

“No? Then where were you?”

“Working.”

“I thought I was your job.”

“You are.”

Danny laughed in spite of himself. “Jesus, this reminds me of being in prison. Never could get a fucking straight answer there, either.”

Miller didn’t respond right away, taking a pull from the bottle before passing it back. “What was prison like?” he asked, eyes on the stars.

“About what you’d expect,” Danny said, lighting up his own smoke. “Tough, scary, boring as hell. The food is the nastiest you’ll find anywhere and the company’s in the same league. But I can survive there, better than you might imagine.”

“How?”

Danny thought about the question before answering. “You have to have a certain attitude with the guards: respectful but not too friendly. If the guards like you, but the other inmates don’t think you’re a suck-up, you get a lot of leeway. And my second time in I had Amanda around to send me things I could barter—cigarettes, stamps, porn. Having something to trade makes all the difference.” 98 | Brooke McKinley

“What happened when you ran out of that stuff?” Danny pondered how much to tell and figured he didn’t have anything to gain by lying. “I have a pretty face, Miller,” he said evenly.

“And I know how to use it.”

Miller inhaled a sharp breath, glanced at him and then just as quickly away. “Was it always… consensual?”

Danny’s laughter was tinged with bitterness. “That’s not exactly the term I’d use. But yeah, most of the time it was.”

“Most of the time?” Miller spoke as though the words were being dragged out of him, his voice only one step up from a whisper.

Danny closed his eyes. He’d gotten past all this. He had. He’d worked hard to put it behind him and move on. But it would be a lie to say he’d forgotten, or that he ever would. He still remembered the sounds and the smells, the cut on his cheek from having his face pressed to the floor, and the eggplant-hued bruises they’d left on his arms that took a month to heal.

“It was prison, Miller, not fucking Bible study,” he said, swallowing past the tremor he heard in his voice.

“Jesus, Danny.”

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I survived in there. A lot of men don’t. I made it out alive. And I’m okay. That’s what matters.” Miller looked at Danny, nodded once, his lips a thin line. “Was it in Leavenworth?”

“No.” Danny shook his head, his lips trembling around his cigarette. “My first stint. Marion.”

“You were just a kid then,” Miller said, his voice soft.

“Yeah. Twenty-two. Wasn’t a kid anymore by the time I got out.” Danny gulped down bourbon, backhanding the excess that trickled from the corner of his mouth. “This is depressing me. Let’s talk about something else,” he choked.

“What can we talk about after that?” Miller asked, his own voice rough and strained. “The weather? Football? What to have for Shades of Gray | 99

breakfast?”

Danny smiled. “All right. Maybe we don’t need to talk tonight.

Let’s just drink.” He passed the bottle to Miller, his eye snagged by the blood smeared across Miller’s fingers.

“Christ, Miller, what happened to your hand?” Danny sat forward, trying to get a better look in the weak, milky-white moonlight.

He reached out, his finger passing gently over the bruised and swollen knuckles. He wished things between them were different so he could hold Miller’s hand, use his mouth to kiss away the hurt.

Miller didn’t answer, just tipped his head back and slugged down a throat full of liquor. Danny could see the scratches on Miller’s knuckles and knew you didn’t get abrasions like that from hitting a person. Miller’s fist had gotten up close and personal with something hard and inanimate; Miller looking to punish himself, not someone else.

Danny slouched back in his seat with a sigh. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened the other night?” he asked. “Or are we going to keep talking around that kiss?”

He heard Miller suck in a breath, stomp his half-finished cigarette under his shoe. “It was a mistake.”

“I thought mistakes were supposed to feel wrong.” Miller twisted his neck in Danny’s direction, their eyes meeting above the glow of Danny’s cigarette. It would be so easy, Danny thought, so easy to lean forward and kiss him again. To lick the smoke from his tongue, watch lust dampen the confusion in his eyes, and show him that being with someone like Danny wasn’t all bad. But Danny wasn’t willing to risk it, to risk bearing the brunt of all Miller’s fears.

So he took a swallow of bourbon instead and tipped his face to the stars.

THE screaming woke Miller out of his alcohol coma. Danny’s voice shouted loud and hoarse from the room next door, and adrenaline 100 | Brooke McKinley

surged so fast and powerful through Miller’s body it threatened to blow off the top of his head and turn him into a human geyser.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cried, rolling out of bed. He hit the floor on wobbly legs, sprinting across the room to grab his gun from the dresser.

His shin knocked hard against the bed frame, the sharp throb a distant second to his fear.

He was out of his room and into Danny’s in a matter of seconds, gun drawn, safety off, not sure what he expected to find. But Danny was alone, legs tangled in his sheets, head thrashing against his pillow.

“Oh, no, please,” Danny moaned. “God, don’t… don’t!” Miller hunched over, one hand on his knee, drew in a deep breath.

Fuck, he’d about had a heart attack over a damn nightmare. Shit.

“Danny,” Miller called, still bent at the waist. “Danny, wake up.” Danny didn’t hear him, his body twisting violently on the bed, legs thumping against the mattress. “Don’t,” he cried again, a strangled sob. “Oh, my God, Ortiz. Please.”

Miller crossed to the bed and looked down at Danny. “Danny.

Danny! Wake up.” He leaned over, put a hand on Danny’s bare shoulder, and gave him a little shake. “Wake up.” Danny’s hands flew up, one smacking hard against Miller’s arm, clutching desperately, finding Miller’s good hand and grabbing on.

“It’s okay,” Miller whispered. “It’s okay, Danny. You were dreaming.” Danny’s eyes opened as he swam up from sleep, confused and scared. “Miller?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Miller smiled. “Go back to sleep. It was just a dream.”

Danny’s eyes drifted closed, his face still tense with fear. Miller lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, waiting and watching until Danny’s breathing evened out, his face growing calm in the moonlight.

Miller carefully untangled his fingers and smoothed the sheet over Danny’s bare chest. He stood and brushed the hair off Danny’s Shades of Gray | 101

forehead with one hand, the strands as soft against his fingers as the stubble on Danny’s cheeks had been rough when they’d kissed.

“Good night,” Miller whispered. “Don’t pull that shit again.

Scared me to death.”

Miller left his door ajar so he would hear if Danny needed him.

He put his gun back on top of his dresser, next to the cell phone that beckoned him with thoughts of duty and responsibility. Miller stared at the phone. He didn’t want to make the call. He didn’t want to know.

Do your fucking job, Miller. The one they pay you for.

He grabbed the phone, punched in the number he knew by heart, and listened to the distant ringing in his ear.

“Sutton here. Sorry to wake you. I’ve got a possible name on the Butler murder.” Miller pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Try Ortiz,” he said and hung up the phone.

102 | Brooke McKinley

IT MADE Danny nervous when there was a knock on the door. He
hadn’t always been that way, but just like he no longer answered his
door armed only with a smile, he couldn’t get past that sharp stab of
alarm when someone came looking for him. The constant anxiety, even
in the face of the most mundane of activities, was a part of his new
career he had not anticipated.

He tugged on his jeans, the worn denim sticking to his shower-slick skin. He didn’t bother with a shirt, shoving his gun into his
waistband like second nature. He pressed his back to the wall beside
the front door, the way Madrigal had shown him, ready if it was kicked
open by a hostile leg.

“Who is it?” he called.

The peephole in the center of his door might as well have been
invisible. He’d stood on the other side of a door not long ago and
watched Madrigal use that particular pathway to blow someone’s
brains out through their curious eye. No peepholes for Danny after
that.

“Danny, it’s me. Ortiz.”

Danny opened the door and found Ortiz’s wide, familiar face
grinning at him.

“Hey, man.” Danny smiled, giving Ortiz a quick, one-armed hug.

“Come on in.”

Ortiz gave a low whistle as he crossed the threshold. His eyes
Shades of Gray | 103

roamed around the spacious living room, taking in the clean, white
walls and the new furniture. “Nice place,” he commented.

“Thanks. You want a drink?”

“Sure. Soda or something is fine.”

Danny pointed him toward a set of bar stools pushed under the
overhanging counter. There was a rectangular cut-out in the wall
above, giving a view into the tiny kitchen. Danny grabbed two Cokes
from the refrigerator, passing one through to Ortiz before resting a hip
on the kitchen side of the counter. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. It’s been a while,” Ortiz said.

Danny had only talked to Ortiz a half-dozen times in the year
since he’d left the car wash. Once, just a week after he started working
for Hinestroza, Ortiz had dropped by Danny’s old apartment, wanting
to make sure he was okay. The most recent time had been a month ago,
when Ortiz had called late at night, drunk, asking Danny for a job.

“How are things at the car wash?”

“Terrible.” Ortiz shook his head. “That asshole hasn’t given me
a raise since you left. Still working for less than minimum wage.”

“That’s against the law,” Danny pointed out.

“Yeah, well, so is being an illegal. He knows I’m not going to
complain.”

Danny had been surprised when he’d first found out Ortiz was an
illegal alien. He spoke with a heavy accent but his English was good.

Better than a lot of the rednecks Danny had grown up with, that was
for sure. Danny had assumed Ortiz had gone to school in the
States.

But he’d learned at home; Ortiz’s mother spoke English and she had
made sure all six of her children were fluent in case they ever got the
chance to cross the border.

“There’s got to be somewhere else you can work.”
Ortiz shook his head again, flipping the tab on his soda can back
and forth so hard it snapped off in his fingers. “What about your job?

How’s that going?”

104 | Brooke McKinley

“Fine,” Danny said, turning away to grab a bag of pretzels. He
tore it open using teeth and hands and tossed it down on the counter.

“I know you said you didn’t have any work for me, that time I
asked.” Ortiz looked embarrassed, his eyes focused on the counter.

“I’m sorry about that, calling you drunk…
.
”

“No big deal.”

“But I’m desperate, man. I need more money. Isn’t there any way
you can get me a job?”

Danny set down his can with a hollow pop. “Do you even know
what I do, Ortiz?”

Ortiz looked up and met Danny’s eyes. “I got a pretty good idea.

Hard to miss that gun
in your waistband.”

“You want to get mixed up in this life?”
Ortiz gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. Danny’s gaze
followed to his clean, white living room. “Doesn’t look so bad,” Ortiz
noted.

How could Danny possibly make him understand? Sure, he had
money now, and responsibility and people who relied on him. But he
also had drugs and guns and fear gnawing away at him day after day.

“It’s not the kind of life you want. Trust me. There are better
ways to make money.”

“How, Danny? How?” Ortiz burst out. “I’m hardly sending
anything home as it is. I’ve been looking for better paying work for
over a year now. There’s nothing. Please, I’m begging you. Just tell
them to give me a chance. I’ll work hard. You won’t be sorry. Please.”
Danny knew Ortiz had a wife and baby back in Mexico, even
though he was only a year older than Danny himself. He hadn’t seen
his daughter since two weeks after she was born, but his wife sent
pictures when she could. His little girl was almost three now and
wouldn’t recognize her father if she passed him on the street.

“Ortiz…
.
”

“If I can make some more money, maybe my wife can come to the
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